What HG Did
by thispapermoon
Summary: Myka and Pete drive away at the end of "Instinct." They do not get very far. (Bering and Wells)
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: After nearly 10 years of reading fanfiction this episode actually got me to post my very first public fic. I'm struggling over what happened in **_**Instinct**_** and writing this was very cathartic. This fic is to process the emotions Myka's going through and deals quite a bit with the strength of Myka and Pete's partnership. It is very much a BeringxWells fic based around Pete and Myka's relationship. Any and all feed back is appreciated! Disclaimer: I do not own Warehouse 13 or any of its characters or plot lines. All mistakes are my own.**

**Thanks for reading!**

**What H.G. Did**

They pull away from the house, Myka twisting around for one last look, until H.G. is lost to the shadows between streetlamp and picket fence. When at last she can no longer be seen, Myka turns forward and the clever quip Pete's prepared fades away. Myka's jaw is working, her throat moving as if she's locking all emotions in, swallowing all words down.

They drive in silence. So much silence that Pete's stomach begins to churn, his sixth sense pulsing like the countdown timer of Sykes's bomb. That bomb. The entire reason why they have ended up on Helena's doorstep, the same reason Myka's hands are twisting together, locking and unlocking, as they drive on, drive silently, through the night.

They leave the scattered lights of the town and head down inky roads, nothing but woods and farms and the faint flash of the headlights on the road before them. Pete cannot shake that feeling, the dread building inside him along with the intensity of Myka's silence. There are few times where Pete can keep himself from speaking, few things sacred enough to not spin into jokes. Before him is the perfect opportunity to tease Myka. But something has shifted in his partner, something that makes her dangerous and foreign, even to him, he who knows Myka so well that at times he feels that she is an extension of himself. A constant so familiar, so precious, that whatever has shifted within her is making his chest compress with anxiety over her absence. But she is sitting right beside him, her face turned into the window. And through the silence he can finally hear her breath, shaking and as tremulous as the fingers that suddenly curl into tight fits against her knees.

"Pete? Could you pull over?"

Her voice is pitched too calmly. It's too controlled. It's the voice she uses when they've solved the puzzle but an artifact is just about to kill them anyway. He listens. Easing the SUV onto the edge of the forest road he kills the engine and turn to look at her. "Mykes? You gonna be sick?"

But it's too late. She's opened her door and slid out of the car onto the dirt shoulder of the road. Pete flashes white hot, and follows her out of the car. He prays she won't be sick. He really hates that kind of thing. His heart rate only intensifies when he sees Myka dashing across the road and disappearing into the trees.

"Mykes? Hey – Myka!" He jogs after her. "Myka? Please don't be getting sick."

Pete peers through the darkness and finds a small path illuminated just enough to follow by the light of the rising moon. In the distance Myka's back is being swallowed into darkness.

"Myka! Come on Mykes, where are you going? Can we just get back – let's just go back to the car."

He waits but she does not respond. Pete shoves his hands deep into his pockets, sighs, and glances up at the sky before following after his partner. The wind ruffles the leaves now and then and his shoes crunch the dirt, but otherwise the world is quiet. And almost peaceful. He walks a while down the path.

And that is when he hears it: a deep and painful sobbing that rips through the forest and shatters the illusion of calm in the night. Pete breaks into a run, heart in his throat and stomach twisting in fear with every footfall. The sound of Myka's anguish intensifies and he rounds the bend with one last burst of speed. He is unprepared for the sight that greets him.

In the darkness the forest road was foreign, transformed from the familiarity of the world that daylight brings. But as he rounds the trees and finds himself in a clearing, Myka's form hunched over a large and craggy rock, he realizes where they are.

The Janis Coin.

Trying to stop Sykes.

Myka.

H.G.

Saying goodbye.

"Shit."

He comes to a halt and watches how Myka's shoulders quake with the force of her cries, the way her fingers scrabble against the rock as if it is the only thing that keeps her grounded. As if it was the spirit of H.G. herself.

"Shit."

Slowly, as if she was some frightened and lost thing, and, indeed, at this moment she is, he approaches her. She looks up as he gets closer, her eyes shining and desperate. She's choking over the enormous sobs that tumble out of her and Pete looks, for the first time, into the face of Myka with her walls down. Her walls shattered. It rocks him to his core.

"Woah – woah, Mykes. Myka –"

He moves to her and kneels before her, shocked when her arms fling around his neck like he was a life raft. _And it's raging like a bitch on the seas of Myka Bering._

"Pete – Pete –" She manages to choke out before the sob ribs through her throat with such violence that her next words sound as raw and bloody as her damaged finger tips, still dripping blood from her desperate efforts to curl herself against the rock.

"I _love _her, Pete. Pete- Pete – oh God. Oh my God. Pete – I **_love_** her."

And there it is. Just like that Pete sees it. A million tiny moments in the past, pulling together into one dazzling and dazing moment of recognition. He pulls away to see her face but she curls forward into her knees. "I love her, I _love_ her." The sobs and tears cloy her words. "Oh God, Helena. Oh my God."

He can think of nothing more to do but pull her against him, his large and clammy hands awkwardly trying to sooth a back that jumps and shakes beneath his fingers with those terrible, soul-deep, racking sobs. And in his mind's eye he sees it as though it's a grainy but much beloved film:

Myka's face as she rounds the bend and sees HG with her Tesla to his own head. Her smile is inexplicable to find that H.G. Wells, a woman, stands before her with a gun to her partners head. It lingers just a moment before she launches into Myka-Impossible-Mode.

Myka keeping secrets from Artie, keeping secrets from _him_.

_"You spoke to H.G. Wells_ _about official_ _Warehouse 13 matters and_ _you_ _didn't tell me?"_

Myka and H.G. _flirting_ (yes he can see that now) over the tracking device H.G. had slipped into his partner's pocket.

"_For the record, I knew you'd slipped that into my pocket."_

"_I thought you'd know."_

"_I knew you'd think I knew -"_

Myka's hands against H.G.'s tear streaked face in Warehouse 2. Myka coaxing her on, Myka lending her strength.

Myka leaving the Warehouse. Myka's return. Myka staring at the spot where hologram H.G. had disappeared. Myka standing right here, right in this clearning, and saying goodbye.

Saying goodbye to _"one of the greatest minds in history._" To the woman that she loved.

And yes, Pete can see it, the movie in his mind growing with certainty and clarity around the final image.

Myka standing within a bubble of light. H.G. standing beyond. He can remember his own protests, his own objections to losing a friend, yes, _finally_, he had called her a friend, so soon. But now all he can see in that moment is the way Myka is looking at H.G.. And how H.G. does not look at him. Does not look at Artie. Her eyes are trained on Myka's face, a mirror image of the love that shines out of Myka's eyes.

And then she is gone. Her body erased by the force of Sykes explosives.

And Pete remembers Myka's silence after. And he had always assumed it was the loss of the Warehouse. But now -

"Myka – oh my God, Myka – we have to turn around – you have to go _tell_ her!"

"No! No."

Myka's face jerks up, her hands are strong and rough has she grabs him by the shoulders. "She made a _choice_, Pete." She grinds out. Her face is dripping with tears and she shakes him viciously.

"She. chose. **him.**" Myka's hands move, become fists, pound helplessly against his pecs. He reaches down and grabs her wrists and she breaks down again, sagging against him.

"Oh my god, Pete, she chose _him_."

Once again she folds into herself and into him. Her tears are weaker now. She sounds exhausted.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"What?! Why? Myka -? For what?"

She doesn't lift her head but the wave of tears swell again, bursting out with renewed pain.

He thinks she's going to break. He cannot understand how she can cry this hard and not rupture. It sounds as if her heart was exploding and flowing out her in her tears. He would think that it was impossible for anyone to cry like this. But he knows better. For in the nights after his father's death, the heartbroken sound of pain that Myka now makes could be heard from behind the door to his mother's room. He takes a deep breath to steady himself.

Finally Myka's body cannot sustain the abuse and she shutters into quieter sniffles followed by more apologies.

"For _what_, Mykes?" He tries to get her to look at him. "I know – I know you…love…her. I guess...I've always known."

A sob escapes from her lips but she finally lifts her eyes to meet his. "I'm sorry for crying."

He has to laugh. Because he knows that Myka Bering does not cry. She does not fall apart. Myka Bering buries emotions deep and they do not see the light of day. And now it seems that all of that pain, all that heartache, has been awoken by the actions of one Helena G. Wells.

He hesitantly reaches up and tucks a wisp of curl behind an ear. It's is tear soaked and very soggy. He removes his hand quickly. This is new territory for them both. This display of emotion on any other occasion would be embarrassing for both of them. And Pete knows that with his partner's admission will permanently alter how they process their emotions together. He takes a risk and picks up her hand.

"Myka, we can go back – we can go back right now. You should tell her."

But Myka is shaking her head. When she speaks she sounds defeated, though her voice is tight with pain.

"Pete, she made her choice. I mean – she's _happy_. She has a little girl again. If –" her voice catches, "If she had wanted me she would have come with us. She would have…come Home." Myka blinks away fresh tears and looks up at the stars. When she looks back there is a deadness in her eyes that makes Pete feel cold all over.

He wants to argue with her, wants to insist on turning that car around and bringing home her happy ending.

But he can see H.G. standing in her driveway - white house behind her with a man and a child inside - he sees her pale, lovely face and her dark eyes watching them. Watching them drive away. Watching Myka, the most astounding woman Pete has ever met - will ever meet - drive away into the night. And H.G. doesn't try to stop her.

And Pete cannot forgive her for that.

**Author's Note: I have this blocked out in my head as a full story but it works as a one-shot. We'll see…**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Wow! What a response. I can't tell you how grateful I am for all the kind words and encouragement this fic has received! It's motivated me to continue, though this chapter is quite different in tone. I think this will be at least a 5-10 chapter fic in total and I'm very excited to share all the thoughts bouncing around in my head with you. Thank you for your support, it truly means a lot! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Warehouse 13 or any of its characters or plot lines. All mistakes are my own.**

**What H.G. Did: Chapter II**

By the time Pete pulls the SUV into the Bed and Breakfast's driveway it is very late. He's expecting the house to be still and dark, wrapped in the safety of sleep and oblivious to their return. So he is surprised to find warm, yellow light wafting out from the sun-room and sliding over the hood of their car. Myka rouses herself as the vehicle grinds to a halt. She is calmer now, and although they've spent the remainder of the car ride in catatonic silence, she leans forward in her seat and peers out the windshield.

"Pete – what are they still doing up?" They throw each other baffled expressions and slide from the car. The sound of voices, laughter, and the clinking china greet them, filling Pete with sudden warmth after the emotional intensity of their day. _Yup, Lattimer, this is it. This is Home. _

He meets Myka in front of the hood where she is leaning one hand on the still warm vehicle and the other on her cocked hip. She stares down at the ground then looks up at him.

"Pete, I don't know if I can do this right now."

Another burst of laughter breaks from the house and Myka shakes her head.

"I don't think I can face them. Not tonight."

"So we won't. We'll sneak in there, and I'll distract them with them with my good looks and winning charm while you slip upstairs." He motions with his hands, "Easy!"

A small smile tugs at Myka's mouth and she nods her head twice. "Let's get it over with."

Pete's just pulling out his key out to unlock the front door it is thrown open to reveal a rowdy Claudia, Steve and, most shockingly, Abigail Cho, jockeying for position in the door-frame, party favors at their lips and left over birthday hats, from the last birthday in the house, set at jaunty angles on their heads. Claudia elbows her way through and greets them with a sweeping bow.

"No applause, please, ladies and gentleman, no applause!" She mimics golf clapping admirers and fans herself in mocking modesty.

"Oh it was nothing," she drawls in her best posh accent, "Anyone would have done the same…EXCEPT THAT IT WAS **ME**!" She spins in a circle on the now crowded porch and begins a dance that causes Steve to wince.

"Me, me, me, me, me, ME! Me, me, me, me, ME! Oh yeaaaaah!"

The sudden inundation of jocularity, juxtaposed with what they've just come from, is a shock to the system, and Pete finds that he is struggling to acclimate. He sneaks a look at Myka and notes that she is staring at Claudia as if the girl has grown another head. She looks slightly woozy and so begins to makes large gestures with his hands to herd the group inside.

"Me, me, me, me, me, ME! Me, me, me, me, ME!"

"Uh...that's great, Claud," he mumbles as she continues to prance at his side. He slides a hand behind his back and gestures for Myka to make for the stairwell. But it is too late. The others have gathered around them, buffeting them towards the living room, Claudia still dancing in circles around them.

Pete knows that if he tries to cover for Myka he will spectacularly fail to be subtle about it, especially now, when everyone seems so obviously intent on integrating them into whatever…whatever _this_ is. He glances at Myka again but she's still staring at Claudia as though she's more baffling than a Warehouse Agent's very first encounter with an artifact.

"What _are_ you all doing up so late? And why is she," he throws a pointed look at Claudia, "doing the chicken dance?"

"CHICKEN DANCE?! _You, _good sir, are speaking to the _savior _of the Warehouse. Oh yeah, that's right…ME!" She begins again with even greater gusto, "Me, me, me, me, ME!"

"_CLAUDIA_." The warning bellow sounds from the living room, and they round the corner to see Artie sitting in an armchair, his ankle propped up and an ice back sitting atop. Someone, and Pete doesn't even have to wonder who, has affixed a party had to both the ice pack and Artie himself. The bright, primary colored cone frames his face and only seems to intensify his scowl. "That is enough now! Claudia, **enough**!"

"ME, ME, ME, ME, **ME**!" Claudia ends her dance with a spectacularly well-timed snap, and a hip-check that sends both her and Steve tumbling onto the couch. She leaps back up, but Steve seems content to settle into the cushions, yawning good naturedly.

"Claudia saved the Warehouse," Abigail begins, her eyes sparkling. "It was amazing, you should have _seen_ her. What a kill shot!"

Claudia begins curtsying and fanning herself again.

"Not that I should say that in front of her, I could write a dissertation about the ego this has given her," concludes the new B&B proprietor with a grin.

"Hey!" Claudia sticks out her tongue out at the new addition to their group and moves around the room herding them into a configuration so that they can best observe her reenacting the events of earlier. She begins in hushed tones, until her voice is rising and falling dramatically with the intrigue and adventure of the day.

Pete smiles along with the story, laughs when he is supposed to, but keeps a wary eye on his partner who has perched herself on the arm of the couch. He is relieved to see that she too smiles along, leaning forward, her eyes never leaving Claudia's one man show. He relaxes into the sofa next to Steve and Abigail and allows himself to be caught up in the tale.

"…And then, I take the launcher filled with goo, and I squeeeeeeze myself through the magical-buttzapping-rays-of-doom. And I think, _Oh Clauds, this is it, this is the end_. _This Warehouse is gonna chew you up and spit you __**out**__! _And then."

She pauses for dramatic effect.

"I got through! And I took my launcher, and I aimed it niiiiceeee and steady…."

She pauses again, relishing in the fact that even those who heard it before, and even Abigail who witnessed it, are on the edges of their seats. Myka is practically sliding off the tip of the couch arm, her mouth open, her eyes slightly glassy.

"I lined up my shot and I thought to myself, _Donovan, you've only got one shot. You show this Warehouse who can take care of it._ And I pulled the trigger."

"Zooooooooowwwweeerrrsshhhhhhhh," Claudia pantomimes the goo shooting up towards the Warehouse rafters. "**BOOM**, baby! Bull's-eye! YES!" She punches a fist into the air, "I am the Goo _Queen_. Whoooo!"

The room bursts into applause and shouts of congratulations. Claudia basks in her reward, her eyes shining with pride.

Pete knows that keeping the attention on Claudia is of utmost importance, and so he rises and opens his arms, sweeping the redhead into the a hug so tight that he lifts her slightly off the ground. He brings her back to earth and pats her atop the head. "Our little hero."

"Oh yeah?! Little, huh? I can be tall," she playfully chest-butts him, standing on her tiptoes and throwing her arms wide, "come at me, Big Man."

Everyone's laughing again at their antics and Claudia spins away coming to a stop in front of Myka.

"And you! How was H.G.? Tell me _everything_! Where has she been, what has she been doing – did you tell her I'm still mad at her for disappearing? 'Cause I'm still mad at her for disappearing –"

Pete's insides freeze and he braces himself as the genuine smile on Myka's face shatters. But Claudia rambles on, unaware, and it is quickly replaced with the strained, plastered expression Myka had worn outside H.G.'s house hours before.

With his vibes going haywire, Pete cuts in quickly. "Well, I think that's a story for – for the morning," he stretches his arms into an enormously put-on yawn "—I think it's – oh my God, look at the time, where has it gone? – for bed. I think it's time for bed." He drops his arms and puts on a sleepy face to look around the room for a consensus.

Claudia looks from him to Myka.

"Wait! Wha – no, no, no, there's something going on here." She sidles close to Myka who is staring vacantly down at her hands. "You have a storrrrry," she sings. "Spill! I wanna kno—"

"CLAUDIA!" Artie, content up to this point to put up with the tech-wiz's enthusiasm, finally speaks back up. "It is late. We are all tired. Now come and take this blasted thing off my foot and get yourself to bed."

Claudia shoots Myka a look that clearly says "_You're gonna tell me everything, right?_" but trudges over to untangle Artie from his party hats and melting ice bags. She helps him to his feet and together they hobble across the living room. He pauses at the doorway and stops, looking back around at them.

"You all did well today." His eyes linger on Myka before he turns, and then, with Claudia's assistance, makes his way from the room. Pete can hear the two of them bantering as the clump up the stairs.

With Claudia gone the room seems to rapidly deflate.

"Well." Steve nervously rubs his hands against his jeans and rises from the couch. "I will see you…in the morning." He gives an awkward half wave and scoots from the room, following his friend up the stairs. Abigail is close on his heals with a quick, and slightly uncomfortable, "goodnight."

Left alone Pete comes to stand by Myka who is studiously examining her shoes.

"Myka –"

Her head shoots up.

"I'm fine. Pete, I'm – fine. Yes, I –" she clears her throat and shoots him a dazzling smile that comes so far from meeting her eyes that he doesn't even have the heart to call her on it. "…totally and…completely…fine."

He grits his teeth and raises his eyebrows at her. Myka sighs and frowns but shakes her head.

"Pete…" She looks at him pleadingly. "Let's just…go to bed?"

He frowns at her and nods and she frowns at him and nods back. It's their signature communication technique for emotional issues that neither of them wants to touch with a 100-foot pole, and they both move to the door.

They start up the stairs, Myka's hands gripping the banister with every step as if the weight of the evening will pull her back down the stairs without the bar's assistance in her climb. He walks beside her barely daring to breathe.

They stand outside her room and he studies his shuffling feet for a moment before squinting back up at her.

"Uh – Myka – um, if you – if you need…anything…I, um – "

She nods at him and her next words are gentle.

"I will."

Her hand finds the knob of her door and she slips inside, peering out at him between the crack made by the open door and jamb.

"And, um…Pete?" For a moment her eyes flicker with life but the light quickly disperses.

"Yeah, Myka?"

"Thanks. Thank you." She smiles a tight-lipped smile at him.

"Good night, Myka."

"Good night, Pete."

Her door snicks shut and he knows that this is oh, so, very far from over.

**Author's Note: So there it is, we're back in Univille and life goes on! Or at least this story does. How will Myka continue to cope with the loss of what she had with H.G.? Will we see the gorgeous-angst-causing-time-traveler soon? Keep reading to find out!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Wow, okay. This took a lot more time that I thought. I've had some major life changes (all good ones!) and haven't been around or writing as much as I would have liked. Thank you for all the wonderful reviews! I'm so sorry I didn't get around to answering everyone. I'm grateful for all the support and will try to be better in the future. H.G. is once again m.i.a. in this chapter but I'm trying to work through all of Myka's emotions and that's taking some time. The next chapter will have quite a bit of H.G….maybe not in the way that you think! I'm really excited to write it. :)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Warehouse 13 or any of its characters or plot lines. All mistakes are my own.**

* * *

**What H.G. Did: Chapter III**

Myka wishes that the moment between asleep and awake could go on forever. That, or her haunted dreams could extend into her conscious state so she could entirely avoid the brief and groggy respite that occurs right before the reality of the yesterday slams into her. As it is, when she blinks her eyes open, it only takes a moment before hard and sharp desperation makes her heart speed erratically and her stomach clench in horror. In the pale, yellow light that filters through her window and onto her bed, Myka Bering sits up and realizes that this new day is a sunset on the dream she's clung to for the past two years. In daylight, the last flicker of a future with H.G. is gone. And it crushes her.

The minutes and hours and days (days that had turned into weeks, and weeks into months) that H.G. has been gone have been filled with a certainty that one day she will show up, all jet-black hair and pale skin, with gentle eyes and a cocky smile. And she will offer up a "Hello, Myka" in a voice that thrills Myka to the center of her heart. And based on a million tiny moments from the past, more numerous than the twinkle of lights in a star streaked sky, Myka has been sure that when H.G. comes home, she'll be coming home to Myka. And so Myka has waited.

It's the dream of a return that's more than a reunion; it's a return that is the start of something Myka burns for. It has been her most private yearning for longer than even she can trace. Myka knows that after everything with the Janis Coin and the Chess Lock she would have forgiven H.G. for past wrongs. She always does. She always did.

All that is gone now and she cannot recall how to live without that hope. How to breathe without H.G. in her back of her mind. How to plan a future without her in it.

Myka lets out a shaky breath and presses her fingers against her swollen eyes. _You're going to get up now. You're going to walk to the dresser. You're going to get dressed. You're not going to think. You're not going to feel. You thought she felt the same. She didn't. She doesn't. Now suck it up, Bering. Get moving. _

Myka swings her legs out of bed and moves towards her bureau. Her body feels heavy and sluggish but she slowly dresses. By the time she makes it downstairs she is exhausted from the continuous effort of closing her mind against the memories of H.G. that tear through her like fire.

Laughter sounds from the kitchen and she takes a deep breath, enters, and makes a bee-line for the coffee. Due to the late night everyone has had there are only dregs left. Myka huffs.

"Ack, sorry Myka, I'm on my third cup." Claudia, who had been laughing over the rate of Pete's muffin consumption, unhunches from over her coffee mug and joins Myka at the counter. "I can make more – unless you want tea. I think there's still some of H.G.'s in the cupboard –"

Myka's insides run cold. She crosses to the table and swipes Claudia's half full mug, gazing at Claudia challengingly over the rim as she chugs it fast. Claudia always uses too much sugar, but it's the only way for Myka to channel the aggression she feels at the mention of H.G.'s brief but memorable stay in the house.

It works – "Hey!" – but not for long – "No fair, you slept late and missed out! Speaking of H.G., where is she?"

Myka reaches the bottom of the mug and slams it back down on the table with more force than she means too. She picks it back up and heads to scrub it vigorously at the sink, her back to the room.

Pete reads her well and manages to speak around his latest muffin, albeit with some difficultly. "Thee didthen wan thu come bath –" He swallows and Myka can't help role her eyes over his antics and his words. "I think she's playing house or something."

"Playing house?"

"Yeah…" There's a pause and Myka knows Pete's eyeing her back, silently gauging how to word this in a way that will upset her least. Myka switches to scouring the frying pans.

"…house, picket fence, day job, Man Friend with a 10 year old kid –"

"Man Friend?!"

"Normal life –"

"Normal life?! She's H.G. Freaking Wells, the 147 year old, Time-Travelling-Inventor-of-Time-Travel – "

"Yeah, I know right? One-time-hologrammed, rocket building, H.G. –"

Myka has to stop her sponge and count to ten. It takes everything not to turn around and contribute to their list of just how preposterous H.G.'s new life is.

Pete raises his voice so Myka will pointedly hear his support of her "- She's making a _huge_ mistake if you ask me – "

Myka makes it to seven before releasing the sponge and rounding on them.

"She's made her choice. It makes her happy." She meets Pete's gaze and knows he's not buying any of her act this morning. Claudia finishes pouring herself a mug of freshly made coffee and gazes sadly down into it. "That sucks. You know, I always thought everything was more fun when H.G. was around."

Apparently, Claudia has bought her act and that's all Myka can ask for right now. She swallows her "_Me too_" and feels a rush of anger towards H.G. that she can't seem to help.

"I'm going for a run."

She's lets the backdoor bang shut behind her and Pete grimaces. "Yeah, Clauds, me too."

* * *

Sometimes it seems like not so long ago that they all sat around the breakfast table: Leena, with her easy, beautiful smile, and Artie, basking in the spread before him. Claudia's casual posture and the way she teased their new addition, Steve. Pete remembers this moment so clearly, the way Myka returned from being cleared by the Regents and took her seat with a quiet grace while those at the table argued about dessert. He remembers how Leena joshed Myka for who she used to be before the Warehouse became her home, uptight and never eating sweats. He recalls grinning across the table at his partner and her smiling back because with her there, they were all home.

And he remembers catching a glimpse of the haunted look that has not left her eyes since H.G.'s first betrayal. It has only grown in the weeks since they have lost H.G. yet again.

Because Myka has changed in the months that have passed since they drove away from H.G. and her Normal Life. She's more like that woman he first met in the Secret Service: buttoned up, sugar deprived, and slightly angry. She hides it well but he knows her, and he knows that it's how she copes with loss. But it hurts to see her so unhappy, and hurts twice as much to see her struggle to hide it from them all.

Not even Artie can help notice the way Myka's features have become gaunt and strained, the deep bags beneath her eyes, the way her clothes hang far too loosely on her already slim frame. He nags at her to eat and Myka doesn't react well. Pete knows that it summons further emotions for Myka of the relationship she used to have with her own father, and he tries to diffuse these situations with varying degrees of success.

They don't talk about it. They don't mention her name or discuss how Myka is struggling. She's doing her job well – better than well – and Pete focuses on that. He guesses Myka does too.

Until one day after they grab, bag, and tag Mike Tyson's Boxing Glove. It's imbued the wearer with unnatural strength that could kill a target in a single blow. Pete is exhausted from dodging and spinning while trying to neutralize the artifact, and he gladly defers the car keys to Myka, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes in preparation for the trip back to the B&B.

But Myka doesn't start the car.

He cracks an eye open and see's that she's staring at him, her forehead furrowed.

"Do I have something on my face?" He dramatically runs his hand over his checks.

She bits her lip and her frown deepens.

"Still there? Did I get it?"

"Pete –"

"Why didn't you tell me sooner, you know I get embarrassed –" He makes a show of opening the mirror in the visor and scrutinizing his features.

"Pete!"

Her tone leaves no question that they're about to have a serious conversation and he forces himself to drop his clowning. He braces himself, flips the mirror closed, and turns towards her.

"Hmmm?"

"Pete – you know how – um –" Myka's voice is trembling and she blinks down at her hands that tightly grip the steering wheel. "You know how when we got back from Warehouse 2, and… um…then…"

Pete saves her from having to say it. "H.G. tried to blow up the world and everybody in it?"

"Yeah…that."

She's quiet for a moment and Pete searches for something to say. He wonders if he should go on an H.G. tirade or if he should emphasize that she didn't _actually_ end up blowing up the entire world and killing everyone in it. Because of Myka. This conversation is a dangerous one. Before he can decide which option is safest Myka speaks again.

"When we were in Egypt you realized that Kelly was your One."

The change of topic baffles him and he mentally flails to follow whatever it is she's not saying.

Myka's twisting her hands on the wheel now and she turns to him, sadness, anxiety, and sincerity written all over her face.

"I left you, Pete. I just left. I didn't even think –" Myka's voice is hiccupping now "—think about what you were going through or you losing someone you loved. I wasn't there for you. I was so – so – selfish and I should have been there because nothing is worse than losing someone you love. And I h-hate that I d-did that too you - that I left you when you needed a f-friend the m-most."

Myka's body shudders but she manages to suppress the majority of her tears. Pete stares at her and the sighs, gazing out the front window at the yellow cliffs around them.

"Mykes. I don't know what to say –"He runs his hand through his hair and sighs again. "It was - you know - I get it. I do. And for what it's worth, I think you were going through your own heartbreak too."

"I was? No I wasn't –"

"Uh, Mykes? The way I see it, you had the hots for H.G. from the moment you met her."

"What?! _Please_. Don't be redic-"

"_I knew you'd slipped that into my pocket -I thought you'd know -_ _I knew you'd think I knew – Ooooooh, H.G.!"_ Pete mimics.

"Okay! Enough. Jesus, Pete."

"What?"

"It's just _how_ could I fall for a, I don't know, a freaking genius-time-traveler? How could I fall for someone who has left over and over again? I know. _I know._ What I felt for her…What I _feel_ for her…" Myka searches for the words and can't quite voice them.

"Mykes. I think you were happy to have someone…on your own level."

"Pete."

"No, I'm serious. Who has read as much as you? H.G. Who knows as many languages, if not more than you? H.G. Who finishes your sentences? H.G. Who embodies everything you love in life from books to defensive arts to the Warehouse? She's smart. She's beautiful. And for what it's worth…she's a _really_ good kisser—"

"**PETE.**"

"Okay! Okay…sorry."

Myka glares at him and for a moment the woman he used to know shines through. "You are the worst. I did not need to think about…" Her voice catches and she begins to blink rapidly. "This seriously got off topic."

She sniffs and turns towards him. "I'm sorry, Pete. I'm sorry I wasn't here for you about Kelly. Honestly, I don't know how you were so strong. I'm – I'm such a mess, Pete. I'm being so weak –"

"No. No, Myka, you're not. Sure, Kelly broke my heart. I really thought she was the One. I was really happy."

"But you didn't fall to pieces –"

"Sure I did."

"But not where everyone could see it."

"Well, you weren't here to." Myka's chin trembles. "I didn't mean it that way. All I mean is that…I think it was easier for me to deal with."

"Because as a man you're pressured to hide your feelings?"

"No, Jesus, Mykes, because maybe Kelly was a One but maybe not _the_ One. And maybe because I'd been divorced and hit rock bottom then. And maybe because I hope that there's someone else out there for me."

Pete watches as Myka takes in this information. "But H.G. already knows about the Warehouse –"

"That's not the point. The point is I don't think there's just one person, one…special person…for me. And I loved Kelly, still love Kelly, but I know that maybe someday I could love someone else that way too. I just have to find her."

"Pete. I'm sorry."

"No, Myka, listen to me. What you had with H.G., what you feel for her, I think it matters so much because no one else you've ever met has made you feel the way she did. Even Sam."

"Because Sam was a man?"

"Look, I don't know, Mykes. Love is love. And yeah, maybe. But maybe not." Pete laughs and shrugs. "Really, maybe you should talk to Steve about this."

Myka shakes her head vehemently. "Nope. Nope. No. _This_ –" She gestures between them, "does not leave this car."

She leans into her seat and sighs. "You know, looking back I think I was more infatuated with Sam than in love – I just – he was suave and handsome and, at the end of the day, unavailable. But he talked down to me. He called me _Bunny._" Myka wrinkles her nose and glances over at Pete. His nose is wrinkled too. "I'm pretty sure you wouldn't have liked him. And after meeting H.G…"

"You're not sure you ever liked him like that too?"

Myka huffs. "I don't know. Does it matter?"

Pete shakes his head. "Not if you don't want it too." She toys with the steering wheel.

"Look, Mykes, I…hang on. Turn and look out the window."

"What?"

"Just do it, Mykes, okay?"

"Fine."

Pete turns to look out his own window.

"The thing is Mykes, you are insanely special. You are smart, driven, brave, beautiful and a really bad ass…you're…one in a million. And I think it's…fitting…that it took a time traveling genius to catch your eye. That's all that matters…it matters that you found someone just as special as you are. Although she is a damn fool for watching you drive away. And, Myka, that's the truth."

Pete can feel himself blushing, his honesty feels awkward and too personal but he knows that Myka needs to hear this.

Myka turns back around and gives him a watery smile.

"I didn't say you could turn back around."

She laughs, sniffs twice, and leans down to start the engine.

"Thanks, Pete. Really."

"I'm hungry."

"I know."

* * *

**Author's Note: Well, another chapter finished! I'm excited for the next one so I hope you'll stick with me! (I hope it lives up to expectations as well!) ;)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: I was so excited about this chapter that I spent almost all day writing. I hope everyone likes it. Maybe I got something in my eye while writing it and had to blink a lot and use a tissue or two. Maybe. I will say this: the angst-machine was set to high while cranking this out.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Warehouse 13 or any of its characters or plot lines. All mistakes are my own.**

* * *

**What H.G. Did: Chapter IV**

It's a warm, late August day a few months later and the Bed and Breakfast is full of midmorning sun and serene quiet. It has been an unusually uneventful week and the house's occupants seize the opportunity to take a day trip to a nearby lake. Myka demurs, staving off Pete and Claudia's protests by offering to catch any pings that might arise in their absence. Truth is, she needs this solitude. With the house to herself she feels as if she can breathe a little more easily, be herself a little more. She needs time to recharge if she is going to keep living the lie that has become her life.

And she knows that with the house empty, no one will come looking for her.

With this in mind, Myka crosses to the stairs and begins to climb. She passes the second floor landing but doesn't stop. She does slow however, her fingers trailing on the rough wood of the banister, her senses heightened as though she may be caught at any moment. She knows it's silly, and that no one will find her. But the task at hand makes her feel secretive, ensuring that her movements are extra cautious. Slowly, she creeps up the stairs until she reaches the only room in the mansard-topped tower that sits like a crown over the B&B's entrance.

The door is closed and locked. It always is. Or at least it has been for a good many months. Ever since one morning, not to long after the Sykes Case, that Myka awoke to find a key on her dresser, and a note with a single phrase scrawled in Helena's beautiful, looping letters:

_Off to have Adventures. _

Myka sighs and moves her fingers from the banister to brush against the wood of the door. _Helena._ She reaches into her pocket and feels her fingers wrap around the stem of the large brass skeleton key. She pulls it out and runs her fingers over the cool metal before slipping it into the lock and pushing the door ajar.

For Myka it is like entering a church and she shivers as she shuts the door behind her with shaking hands. Helena's room is more spacious than it appears from outside, although there's not much in it. Myka steps forward into the dappled sunlight that scatters down from the high dormer windows set into the pitch of the roof. The light catches the thick layer of dust that has built up on every surface and that clings to the tidy stack of books on the desk. It coats the bed in a thin film and puffs up from beneath Myka's feet.

She crosses to the dresser and makes patters in the dusk until the polished wood beneath shows through. Here, in this space, she feels as close to Helena as she ever will. But it won't bring her back. Myka knows this. Knows that all she has are the forgotten contents of this room, as spare as it is, left in her safe keeping. _And for how many months have you kept watch over her room in this house while H.G. plays wife and mother in another?_

She slides the bureau drawer open, knowing that she shouldn't, but unwilling – or unable – to stop herself. She knows what she will find.

Folded neatly is a single pale-blue button-down shirt, so thin it could be made from tissue. Myka reverently lifts it out and holds it close. It doesn't smell like Helena anymore. It smells like salt and dust and something that makes Myka blush to remember. Because this isn't the first time she has crept up here. It isn't the first time she has slid this drawer open and held the shirt to her.

And oh, how she missed Helena so much the day she finally summoned enough courage to climb the stairs and let herself into Helena's room as though she had a right to be there. The first time had been several months after the dreadful morning Myka had spent, note and key in one hand and cell phone in the other, desperately calling over and over a number that had been disconnected. _Why couldn't I come with you, Helena?_

It had taken her those first months to fully grasp that Helena might be gone a while. The length of her absence had given her the courage to finally come here to search for anything that could lead her to Helena. Any clue, any trace of a plan or a destination. She had found nothing but the books, a neatly made bed, and a pale-blue shirt that smelt of ink and paper and tea. _Helena_.

And slowly, cautiously, she found herself self doing actions so out of character that she now flushes to remember. She recalls how the sweater she wore had slid to the floor followed by her slacks and plain black socks. She remembers her eyes anxiously roving across the room before she oh, so, slowly brought her fingers up to unhook her bra, pulling it down her arms and letting it drop on top of the growing pile of her own clothing.

She had shivered in the mid-October chill of the room when she brought the paper-thin shirt up over her shoulders, leaving it to fall open down her front. She'd looked at herself in the mirror then, her dark hair spilling straight and long down her shoulders, contrasting with the unusual paleness of her skin in the evening light. She had been keenly aware of the curves and planes of her taut stomach, and the way her nipples caught against the fabric as it whispered over her skin. She had reached up to touch the pink of her cheeks.

She remembers how she blurred her vision so that she could almost fool herself. She could almost fall away and see Helena's image in the mirror looking back at where Myka knew only she stood. That straight dark hair. That pale skin. That damn blue shirt.

And delicately, hesitantly, Myka had brought her hands up to slide across her stomach, watching transfixed at her own hand trailed over Helena's flesh in the mirror. She knew this was wrong, oh, so inappropriate, but in that moment, the absence of Helena was a constant ache. She reasoned that if this was a way to feel close her, she wouldn't stop herself this once. Myka had let her hands glide up and under the shirt, _Helena's_ shirt, gasping at the sensation of her cold hands on her warm flesh. She felt her body going haywire with feelings she could not escape, and watched as a hand slide down to dip beneath the black band of her underwear. She blurred her vision further and watched the shape in the mirror until her longing overcame her and she stumbled backwards onto the bed.

_Helena._

With a jolt Myka returns to the present, her face flushed. Lost in memories and unaware of her actions, she realizes she is once again standing before the mirror, the heat of the summer day causing the blue button down shirt to cling to the bare skin of her back. Her eyes snap to mirror and she cringes at the sight. There is no glamour of Helena there, only a sickly looking creature with frizzy dark curls and gaunt, sunken cheekbones. The delicate shirt hangs on Myka's bony shoulders. Her underwear all but sliding down her emaciated hipbones. Her stomach is concave, anything but beautiful, and her eyes hold an expression that Myka hasn't realized until now is one of lifelessness. Despite the heat in the room she shivers at the specter in the mirror before her. It is not Helena. It is not even Myka. The image makes her stomach roll. Self-disgust races through her veins and renders her utterly unable to imagine, even for a moment, that elegant, beautiful Helena is here.

Suddenly all the sleepless nights catch up with her and Myka feels lightheaded from exhaustion. She moves to shut the drawer but comes to a halt when from the very back a single pair of thick, soft, gray woolen socks with pale-lilac patterns roll into view. Their sudden appearance makes her gut twist with hurt and she begins to shiver in earnest from emotional exertion.

Crossing to the bed she sits, dusk coating the back of her legs, and brings a finger up to traces the swirling lilac design along the toe of the sock. She leans down and pulls them over her toes and up her ankles, her eyes bursting with black spots when she straightens back up.

Myka draws the blue shirt tightly around her and slips beneath the bed covers. Dust from the pillow clings to the tears on her cheeks and, briefly, she laughs at the literary references that race through her mind. _So this is what it feels like to be Miss. Havisham, wasting away for a lover who will never come. _

It's sad, it's utterly pathetic. Myka forces her thoughts away from the wretched life of Dickens's ill-fated character. She feels the wool socks warming her feet and wonders if it's normal to feel this cold in the summer. Slidding a hand under the blankets and over the cool sheets, Myka reaches out for a Helena that is not there, and now, never will be.

She closes her eyes and lets her mind run back to a time when her happiness was a giant sun pulsing with the radiance of Helena's nearness…

_It's dusk in the Bed & Breakfast and rare moment of down time. For Myka it is also a private celebration. Artie's just admitted to approving of H.G., of __**Helena**__, and Myka has returned to the house with another artifact found, another puzzle solved, and a heart that races with joy and excitement. She fixes herself a large Americano with an extra shot and room and stretches her legs out on the sofa to indulge in the latest gothic novel by Kate Morton. It's setting out to be a perfect evening when Helena slips into the room with a large volume in her hands. Without a moment's hesitation, she plops herself down on the opposite end of the couch, stretching out her legs until her feet bump against Myka's elbow. She grins in a puckish way and cracks open her book. _

_"The Elements of Computing Systems: Building a Modern Computer from First Principles." Myka raises her eyebrows and Helena merely smirks over the top of the massive volume._

_"I have a lot of catching up to do, darling."_

_All Myka can do is grin and Helena smiles back, eyes sparkling in a way that makes Myka want this evening to stretch on forever._

_"Well, tuck in!" Helena lifts her book and a mock toast and the settles down behind it, her eyes whizzing across the pages._

_Myka tries to read, really she does, but she can't keep her eyes on the page. No, in fact, they keep drifting up to take in her companion. And while Helena is thoroughly absorbed in the learning the complexities of software hierarchies, Myka drinks her fill of simply watching her. The proximity of Helena's feet to her warms her side and she glances down._

_"Hey! You stole my favorite socks!""_

_"I only actually borrowed them, darling. They're ever so comfy and I do love lilac. I found them in the washroom." She smiles dreamily down the sofa at Myka. "Washing machines, how ingenious!"_

_"I bet you wish you'd thought of that," Myka teases._

_"Yes, I bloody well wish I had!"_

_Myka laughs. Helena fills her so full up with joy that the excess has to break out somehow._

_"What's so funny?" Pete enters, crumbs tumbling over his shirt as he pops some of Leena's gingerbread cake into his mouth._

_"Myka, I'm afraid, has just been teasing me," Helena beams. Her hand comes to rest on Myka's own wooly socked ankle. Myka grins happily down at her book and feels her cheeks warm at the touch. Helena doesn't seem inclined to move her hand from its newfound location and Myka finds she doesn't mind in the least._

_"Oh." Pete frowns and swallows the remainder of the cake. He shuffles his feet._

_"Well, uh…Claudia and I were thinking we'd, uh, you know watch some of the game…" He awkwardly inclines his head at the television the faces the sofa they currently occupy._

_"Oh!" H.G. swings her legs off the sofa and onto the floor, her hands moving to rest on her knees as she leans forward. "You mean on the television! How exciting –"_

_Myka silently curses Pete for disrupting what, for her, was a lovely evening. She chugs down the remainder of her Americano and rises._

_"Actually…H.G.? Would you…would you care to go for a walk? I mean it's still light enough out and you haven't seen much of the property, it'd be nice to get some fresh air, and, no offense Pete, but you get way, way too into the game and I think it's a lovely evening out and –"_

_"Myka?"_

_Myka pauses to suck in air and realizes she's been rambling. Oh god._

_"That sounds lovely darling, let me just fetch a sweater and my boots and I will meet you on the porch promptly."_

_Myka blinks at her and manages a smile that she hopes conceals how her heart is dancing. Pete is staring at her in bemusement. "What?"_

_He opens and shuts his mouth and shakes his head as if to clear his mind. "Hmmm, oh, nothing – do you mind –" he gestures around her to the remote on the side table and she jumps out the way._

_"Oh! No! Go for it…I'll just…" she points with her thumbs towards the entrance hall, "-I'm just gonna…go."_

_"Yeah?"_

_"Yeah."_

_Myka darts from the room and pulls her boots on just as Helena descends the stairs. _

_"Ready?"_

_"Quite."_

_They head out into the evening and walk along a gravel path that leads through the tall grass around the house._

_The sky to the west is smeared with pinks and purples and the twilight is filled with cricket song and evening birds. Helena halts and tilts her head skyward, breathing in the night air. She's wraps her sweater tightly about her thin frame and tuck her hands into the crooks of her arms._

_Myka watches her and gets caught, which makes her flush. Helena doesn't seem to mind though. With her head still tilted back and her eyes on Myka, she smiles, her glossy hair glimmering in the evening light._

_"I can't get enough of the sky. Not after being shut away for so long."_

_The thought of Helena's century in the bronzer makes Myka's heart ache intensely and she moves closer as Helena sighs and lowers her gaze._

_"I want to show you something."_

_Helena, always curious, follows without question. As they walk she points out flowers and plants by their latin names: Pulsatilla for the prairie crocuses, and Oenothera biennis for the tiny yellow primrose. She tells Myka how she and Christina would play at who could give the correct name of a flower the fastest on their walks in the park._

_"She must have been very smart." They paused over small blue flower that Helena deems a Centaurea cyanus, and the look on Helena's face is breathtakingly sad._

_She lifts her gaze to meet Myka's and there's suddenly a blankness in her eyes that makes them seem impossibly dark and a little unnerving. It passes in an instant, and she smiles wanly and motions for them to continue._

_"Yes, she was highly intelligent, especially for her age. I'm afraid I indulged her quite terribly in that matter. Oh – oh—Myka –"_

_They've cut through a thicket of trees and emerge in an open field where the first stars of evening can be seen. The pink of the horizon has bled into a cobalt that fills the expansive South Dakota sky. The path winds to a halt at a small, beautifully carved bridge with paint matching the trim on Leena's Bed & Breakfast. It arches sweetly over a gurgling brook at the mouth of a small pond, and the water throws up a reflection of the azure skies above. It's almost too beautiful to be real and aside from the Warehouse Library it's one of Myka's favorite places on earth._

_Helena moves to the small bridge and rests her forearms on the railing. She looks out at the sprawling land around them and Myka can tell by the set of her shoulders that Helena feels this new freedom in her core. Quietly she comes to stand next to her, focusing not on the landscape but on Helena's tear streaked face._

_Helena's lips are parted in awe and a few strands of dark hair have been swept across her forehead in the breeze. It's all Myka can do not to reach out and touch her, to lay a hand on her arm, or reach for her hand, or even caress those perfect lips. She stands so close that she can once again feel the warmth of Helena. _

_And Myka can feel her own heartbeat, feel it hot and strong, feel how blood flows through her veins and how her lungs expand and contract with every breath. This is living, Myka realizes. Living is having someone to live for._

_Helena turns her head and her eyes are shiny with light from where sunset and starlight meet. She murmurs a thank you that makes Myka's eyes smart and slides her arm through Myka's own._

_Myka's never felt this way. Never expected to feel this way. It's exhilterating and frightening and she can only think of one thing that will make it better. But she can't bring herself to close the distance further between them. It's not the right time. It's too fresh, too new. This is a secret with herself that warms her from within. It bangs around in her chest and she wants to grin and laugh and cry all at once._

_Besides, Myka reasons, now that Helena is here to stay, they have all the time in the world._

* * *

The first thing Myka realizes is that the inside of her mouth tastes like dirt. The second: she is excruciatingly hot. Forcing her eyes open she blinks in the dim light of the room, momentarily disoriented._ Helena._

Judging by the lack of light, evening has fallen. It occurs to Myka that she has just slept longer than any stretch of time in many months. With this new alertness she suddenly feels ridiculous for wearing socks in summer and an old shirt that now smells quite a bit of all the wrong things.

She peels back the sweaty covers and removes the socks, tossing them carelessly into the corner of the room. _Not like you're coming back to care, eh, H.G.?_ She shakes her head and moves towards where her clothes are in a pool on the hardwood floor. She pointedly keeps her back to the mirror, a rising tide of shame rushing through her stomach and into her throat. Dressing quickly, she slicks her damp locks into off of her forehead, grabs the shirt and the key and leaves, locking the door carefully behind her.

She heads down the stairs and makes a beeline for her room, depositing the shirt in the hamper and throwing on her sneakers. Key in hand, she makes for the stairs once again. This time she can hear voices in the kitchen and curses herself for falling asleep. She was never supposed to be up there so long.

The kitchen lights seem much too bright after the dimness of the third floor and she squints at the group gathered around the table. They pause in their meal when they see her, surprise and confusion on every face.

"Myka, where've you been –"

"—Yeah, we've looked _everywhere_ for you –"

"—are you alright?"

"—why's their dirt on your face –"

"—you look terrible!"

"—where were you?!"

Myka has to close her eyes against the rush of questions and she self-consciously brings her sleeve up to swipe at her face. Obviously she should have taken a look in that mirror.

She hides the key behind her back and edges towards the back door.

"Uh – I was…you know…I was…cleaning the attic. I –um – I have to take care of something outside really quickly, will you please excuse me?"

She darts out the door and hears a confused, "I didn't even know we _had_ and attic," from Artie as it shuts behind her.

Safely on her way, she breaks into a run, jumping low shrubs and winding through trees until she bursts into the field that lies just beyond the Bed & Breakfast. The night has folded down around her and she realizes that sweeping prairies do not make her feel free. They make her feel desperately alone. As she crosses to the bridge, all that is left of the sun is a muddy, yellow smudge on the horizon. She wonders how she once thought this place held any beauty.

Holding the key up, she runs her fingers over its curves and planes. She squeezes it tightly and feels the metal cut into her flesh. H.G. never actually asked her to keep anything safe. Not her room. Not her books. Not her heart.

In one sweeping motion Myka swings her arm in an arc and lets the key fly. In the darkness it is impossible to see how far it goes. But she hears it hit the water with a plunk and is sure it sinks right to the bottom.

It doesn't make her feel any better.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Remember me, remember me?! I hope so! I'm so sad that it took so long to get around to writing this. My life has been in a state of flux and I haven't had a night to myself in ages. Now that I'm more settled (moving is such a pain!) I hope to write more often. So look out for updates! As always, these characters are not mine. Also, Claudia's language is a bit like a sailor's in this chapter (which is fitting, given the setting). **

**Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

**What H.G. Did: ****Chapter Five**

Myka's running fast. Each shipping container feels like it's a block long as she speeds around corner after corner, racing the length of the shipyard. Sweat leaks down her back and plasters her curls to her face despite the chill of the late fall day. Mutely cursing herself for wearing her black leather jacket to this snag, bag, and tag, she realizes that it's been so long since she's worn it that she'd even forgotten the unsightly bullet hole that shreds the fabric of the arm. It was once her favorite jacket, and now she can't even remember which instance of peril resulted in it coming to be there. Pushing it from her mind she forces herself to run even faster.

"Pete!"

She skids to a stop and shouts for him, her heart pounding with exertion and fear. She cannot afford to be too late.

"Myka!"

The cry comes from her left and she darts about the nearest container only to by greeted by the sight of Pete struggling for dominance over their latest suspect. She gasps for breath.

"Pete –!"

"Myka – quick!"

Her reflexes respond automatically and she catches the artifact he lobs her way. The temporary distraction loses him the upper hand and he is brought to his knees by the burly man who ruthlessly pushes him onto his stomach, jerking his head back with a thick and rusty chain.

Myka tightly grasps The Bracelet of Poppaea, wife of Emperor Nero who beat her to death in a rage, in a lilac gloved hand. The artifact (most literally) at hand induces emotion of the same proportion as Nero's in whoever is unlucky enough to come into unprotected contact with it. Pete's face is already turning a sickly gray as the metal chain tightens around his neck and Myka knows she hasn't much time as the man behind him roars with fury. Plunging a hand into her jacket pocket she scrambles for a neutralizing bag. Her fingers meet the slippery silver baggie and she tears it out, speed making her actions clumsy.

A glint of gold on silver catches her eye as the bag comes free and suddenly the world goes very quiet around her. She stares down at the object that has tangled around the bag in several places: a long gold chain attached to a square locket with delicate, pale-pink cabbage roses.

Everything falls away.

Her fingers move of their own volition, gently, reverently, tracing along the edge of the locket where porcelain meets gold.

And in an instant she is lost.

She cannot her Pete's ragged gasps for air. She cannot see the way his assailant shows no mercy. She does not realize that Claudia has skid to a stop on the other side of Pete. She cannot here her screams.

"Myka, bag the artifact! Do it now, Myka – what the HELL is _wrong _with you? MYKA –"

But Myka's world has gone quiet and narrowed down to one pin point – the locket in her hand and the memories that it awakes inside her. She'd forgotten she had picked it up that night and slipped it into her pocket with a flush of warmth, knowing that H.G. had trusted that the one thing she valued most in the world would be found and kept safe by Myka. And then, with the chaos of Sykes and the changing seasons that followed, she had quite forgotten that the locket had been curled in the pocket of her once favorite jacket. A jacket she'd bought solely because it reminded her of H.G.

As if in a trance, her fingers flutter up to the jacket's tattered sleeve. _Oh yeah_, she thinks dazedly, her brain fogged as if in a dream, _that was how it happened. _

"MYKA."

The bag and bracelet are wrenched from her fingers, and the locket's chain rips through her purple glove as it tangles around her hand. Jerking back into the present, into a world that feels like it's in fast forward, Myka shouts as she realizes that that Pete's eyes are rolling up in his head, a terrifying choking noise gurgling up from inside him. She is startled to find that Claudia has appeared beside her and she sways a little from the shock. Without hesitation Claudia shoves the bracelet into the neutralizer causing sparks rocket up from within. The man with the chain slumps to the ground unconscious.

For a moment there is silence and then Pete collapses onto the asphalt, his breath coming in rattles and bursts. Before she can process what just happened Myka is stumbling backwards as strong hands crash into her. She struggles to orient herself and cannot figure out how to move her arms properly as Claudia continues to shove her with a rage not dissimilar from that induced by the artifact she's just bagged.

"What is **_wrong_** with you, Myka?! Pete is dying and you don't even **fucking** try to save him? You have the fucking artifact and the bag in your hands and you just _stand_ there looking two thousand miles away while your partner is being choked to death in front of you? I don't know what the **fuck** has been going on with you lately but you need to fucking figure it out. You're not the agent you used to be."

With one final, and particularly rough, shove Claudia throws the silver bag to the ground at Myka's feet.

"You're not the Myka you used to be."

The rage is gone from her voice. Left behind is a bitter and disappointed tone that makes Myka's stomach turn to ice as her brain finally catches up with her head.

_Oh Shit. _

_Shit, shit, shit. _

**Shit. **

Claudia turns and storms away, brushing past Artie who has only just jogged onto the scene, sweaty and panting. She disappears beyond the nearest container and Artie frowns at the scene before him.

"What's going on?"

Myka feels sick to her stomach. Her vision is coming in and out of focus and terror makes her breathing seize up.

As Pete pushes himself up off his knees, with Artie at his side, he locks eyes lock with Myka. There is hardness in his gaze that makes her stomach plummet to her toes.

"_Pete._"

It's barely more than a whisper and Myka knows she has no right to even bargain for his forgiveness. She has committed the unforgivable – she has let her own issues come before having his back and keeping his trust. She knows what she has done will be irreparable. No partner should always be looking over their shoulder.

Miserably she stumbles forwards toward Pete, her hands out in supplication.

His face blanks she nears and she stutters to a halt, the terror inside her now at a level she has never known. She thinks she could die from the fear in her.

For a moment he looks down, his face troubled, before his eyes flicker back up to her face. His gaze is piercing, but the hardness is gone from around his mouth and between his eyes.

"Artie – could you give us a minute."

His eyes never leave her face and Artie's bushy eyebrows sink down over his eyes in a deep frown. His eyes sweep from Myka to Pete, but to both their surprise his steps away and holds his hands up.

"Of course."

Turning, he disappears around the same container as Claudia, and Myka feels as if the enormity of the shipyard is swallowing her alive.

"Pete, I am so sorry." She manages to whisper. It takes all her strength to push the tears down. She doesn't deserve to cry. She doesn't deserve anymore sympathy.

But suddenly Pete is standing before her, his warm hand is wrapping around hers where they clench in the standard issue rubber gloves. She wonders why he is being gentle with her until she realizes that he is untangling the locket from her fist.

"How long have you had this?"

It's a simply spoken question with little intonation.

Myka realizes that he probably feels just as badly in this moment as she does.

"Since the night we found Sykes in Hong Kong." She can't meet his eyes. "I just found it…in my pocket. I'd forgotten I had it. After all this time…"

She trails off and tries without success to calm her roiling stomach.

"I'm so sorry, Pete."

"Myka –"

His voice is soft and she manages to lift her eyes to his.

"You're not well."

The statement hangs in the air between and come to rest somewhere between Myka's heart and spine.

"I know."

And she does. Now that he has had the courage to say it out loud she realizes she's known the truth is such a statement for longer than she has the strength to recall. She hasn't been well for a very long time. Not since the first time they lost Helena. Not since the second. Or the third.

But it was the fourth time that broke her. It was losing H.G. not to death, or to the Regents or even to her own stupidity and anger, but losing her to another human being. It was losing her to someone who Helena clearly believed could give her more than Myka ever could.

And standing in the chilly, salty air of a vast shipping yard, in the middle of a desolate coastline, Myka knows what she has to do. What she should have done a long time ago.

It hadn't worked out well for her and Pete the first time, but she knows that it has come to this.

"Pete…I – I need to -."

She sucks in a breath and briefly marvels at how the cold is seeping into her chest. Her lungs fill with icy dread but she plunges on.

"I need to – I need –"

"Myka." He hand is still wrapped around hers, warm and comforting. The locket tangled between their palms. "I know."

She's battling with her words now - they're frosted to the inside of her mouth and she struggles to choke them out.

"You know I'm not leaving you – not for good. You know I - care – Pete – you know, don't you?"

Pete is blinking rapidly, his eyes filling up in a way that makes her heart burn in pain for him. For what she is about to do to him.

His fingers are pressing hers so hard that the chain is once more slicing into her fingers. It's H.G. all over again. She's always going to be between them, always inside Myka's head, taking Myka away from Pete, from the Warehouse, from everything that is good and true in her life. Because Myka cannot seem to put them before a Spector of a woman who will never, ever love her enough to not hurt her. Because if H.G. had truly loved her, she would never had taken the trident. She would never have disappeared, leaving no more than a note and a sun streaked morning. She would never have let Myka walk away after she wrapped her arms around her and held her in a way that pled for her to never let her go. But she had. And she did.

And after today Myka knows that if she's to have any shot at being worthy of the Warehouse, of Artie and Claudia, and most of all, Pete, dear, sweet Pete, she needs to walk away.

And so she repeats herself through trembling lips and shaky breaths.

"You know, don't you?"

The deserted shipyard sprawls out around them and Myka's words are almost lost to the wind that whips around the edges of the vast stacks of orange and gray containers.

But Pete pulls her close and rests his chin on her shoulder. He whispers a reassurance that he does, in fact, know.

And as they stand there, the first flakes of snow begin to fall.

* * *

**Author's Note: Okay, wow. This story has such a mind of its own. And just a heads up, this is not a Myka/Pete romance fic though I suppose you could read it that way. But I discourage that. I want to show the fact that their love is every bit as important and beautiful as Myka and H.G.'s but that it doesn't have to be romantic. And this fic just keeps getting more and more bro-mancy as I write it. And I think I'm still so mad at H.G. that I'm having trouble forgiving her enough to write a resolution with her. But I'm working on it. So hang tight! Hope to have more posted with weekend. **

**I adore reviews! :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: Characters are not mine. Claudia's dirty mouth is.**

* * *

**What HG Did: Chapter Six**

Claudia is drumming her fingers on the wood of the kitchen table by the time Pete finally makes it through the door. He is not used to the grim set of her mouth, but the determination in her eyes is pure Claudia. It's clear to see that he has his work cut out for him. Beside her, Jinksy sits dutifully, his brow furrowed.

Having flow home ahead of them with Artie, Claudia has had time to shower and change. She looks warm and dry in her winter sweater and wooly-socked feet. The sight makes Pete shiver as he stomps snow from his boots.

"Well?" Claudia demands.

Claudia's hands are folded tightly on the tabletop and Pete knows that this is an interrogation.

Sinking into a chair he kneads his forehead and Jinksy slides a mug of apple cider across the table to him with a sympathetic grimace.

When Pete looks back up, Claudia looks a little more concerned and a little less cross.

"Pete? Where's Myka?"

He gulps down the drink, the hot liquid scalding his mouth and stinging his lips. Wiping a hand over his mouth he leans back in his chair and regards her across the table.

"I dropped her at the Warehouse. She's with the Regents."

"They arrested her?!" Claudia is on her feet in an instant, her tough girl act giving way to the concern that Pete has suspected lurks just below her brusque exterior.

"No, Clauds," he sighs and nudges her chair towards her with his foot. "Come on, sit back down."

His stomach does a somersault and his mouth feels paper dry from the cider burn and the anxiety of a conversation he doesn't know how to have.

"Listen – Claudia," he flicks his gaze to Jinks but knows that she's the one who needs his full focus right now. Jinks leans forward and puts a gentle hand on Claudia's arm until she slides back into her seat.

"Myka – well, she's just not doing so well right now. Hasn't been…I mean, I guess you've notice…"

Claudia's chin is trembling but she meets his eyes head on.

"But why? I don't – I don't understand –"

There feels like there is no air left in the room and Pete picks over his words carefully. He never wanted to be the one to tell them. This is Myka's secret, Myka's life, and it feels like a violation to bare a secret so large that she's tried to keep it from even herself.

"Well, um, Claudia – Myka, she – she –" he halts again and grits his teeth in frustration.

"Myka was in love with H.G." Jinks states simply.

His soft words roll out over the room and his eyes flicker to Pete's face for confirmation. "Is. Is in love with H.G." he concludes from the expression he finds there.

The breath Pete lets out feels like the air coming from a balloon.

"Yeah. Yeah, she is."

Claudia's eyes are rounder than medallions and her eyes whiz from Pete to Jinks to Pete again. She blinks rapidly before her eyes get impossibly wider.

"Oh."

Pete can see her thinking. He can see her recalling all the same tiny moments as he had that night in the woods, a night that seems so long ago now, but hardly less painful. Never less painful.

"Oh!"

She's on her feet once more and pacing the kitchen.

"Oh my god, I am so _blind_, how could I be so blind. How did I _miss _this? Jinksy! You knew -?!"

"Well," says Jinks slowly, "I only saw them together briefly but even then I could tell there was enough heat between them to start the Yule fires burning." Crossing his arms he rolls his eyes at Claudia's obliviousness. "Talk about tension."

Claudia freezes in her pacing.

"The long walks together….the giggling and the teasing …the finishing each other's sentences –" she counts the examples off on her fingers, "—the late nights in the library – hey! I thought they were _studying_!"

Whirling on Pete she puts her hands on her hips.

"They were." He sadly shakes his head at her. "It never amounted to anything."

Claudia suddenly looks lost and comes back to her seat at the table.

"That's why Myka left the first time. Because of what H.G. did. Because Myka was in love with her then. Wasn't she?"

Pete nods.

"But H.G. blindsided her – on man. I've been so dim."

"We all were."

Biting her lip, Claudia's eyes rocket open almost impossibly wide. "The boyfriend – the house – the new daughter. _Shit._ Oh shit, Pete – I'm such and ass, I –"

"Hey," holding up his hands Pete halts her. "She didn't want you to know. She didn't want _anyone_ to know."

Jinks cocks his head and says, not unkindly, "But we've all lost love…"

"I know. I know. But Myka – there isn't just anyone in the world for Myka. I wish there were. I wish there were a thousand people worthy of her. But for Myka there is only H.G. Her..." He feels a bit foolish but soldiers on nonetheless, "her world lights up when – when H.G. – when _Helena_ is around."

Awkwardly he clears his throat. This is far too mature a conversation for his tastes and he decides that after this is over, he gets to act like a ten year old boy for the rest of the year. No exceptions.

Claudia's head is in her hands and she looks miserable. "I know it, Jinks – Pete's right. There's no one in the world like H.G. for Myka. The two of them – it's just – right. And H.G., Pete, I _know_ she feels the same way. I just **know** it. How can she do this to Myka?"

She drops her head back down other her arms.

"I was an ass to her today."

Pete has to laugh. "Yeah, but I think it was good for her."

He sobers. "She's going to go home for a little while. Get her head back on."

Jinks nods but Claudia shoots her head back up. "No! I mean, can't she just – can't she do that here? It's her home. It's _our_ home. It's where she belongs. We can help her, I know we can."

The faith Claudia has in their little found family makes Pete's eyes smart and he has to blink down at his hands for a moment.

"It's what she needs, Clauds. She's gotta do this. She says," and here his voice cracks, but he can't bring himself to mask it – "She say that she needs to be worthy of us. And to do that she has to go away and get better. So she can love us more than loving H.G. lets her."

Claudia comes and stands next to him. Her hand comes to rest on his shoulder and his covers it with his own as he feels himself break down. He's been so strong – strong for Myka – but losing her again, that's the worst thing in his world.

But he knows Claudia is right. They have each other. And together they can heal.

* * *

The night slides up like a rising tide around the house and by the time Myka returns, wan and exhausted in a snow jacket that has become at least three sizes too big for her, the inky black has pressed itself firmly against the amber glow of every window. She stands in her room, suitcase open as she folds up her worldly possessions one by one. It's remarkable how old she feels in this moment, as if the weight of a thousand lifetimes is wrapped about her frail shoulders.

There is a faint tap at the door and she glances up to see Pete's head poking in from the hall. Sometimes he reminds her so much of a small boy in such and endearing way that her heart just melts. This is one of those times. Inclining her head she motions to him and he shuffles in and crawls onto her bed, mussing all her neatly folded piles.

"Pete!"

He smirks at her shriek and for the first time in a long time the heavy air around Myka seems to have lessened.

Digging under his knees he pulls up a wad of clothes. Carefully, and with great intention, he refolds it, his tongue poking through his teeth as he concentrates. There's a sweetness to his intentions that make her want to sweep him up and hug him close. But she doesn't.

Instead she accepts his offering, with the edges now only slightly off kilter, and smiles at him. It makes her face hurt and she realizes how long it's been since her mouth has turned upwards.

He smiles back and flops backwards on the bed.

"Need any help?"

"I think you're helping enough as is."

He wrinkles his nose at her and she opens a dresser drawer and pulls out more clothes.

"Hey Pete? Have you seen my picture of us from our first month at the Warehouse? You and I are sitting in porch –"

"Oh yeah!" Pete cuts in "—and Leena wanted our picture for the 'Warehouse Scrapbook!'"

"You're making the worst face _ever_, Pete. I keep it on my dresser but I can't find it now."

"Hey! I was unprepared. You know, you gotta give me time to warm my face up," he stretches his mouth and preens a bit, "I may be a little camera shy, but once you get me going…" He makes kissy faces at an imaginary camera.

"Oh, sure. You keep telling yourself that." She peeks behind the dresser. "I thought maybe it had fallen down…I'm not really sure where it went. Do you mind if I grab one of the ones from the living room?"

Pete nods through his duck-face and she tosses a hand mirror at him.

"Hey!"

"Hey, yourself!"

She makes a noise between a choke and a laugh and Pete smiles. At least it's better than nothing. He does laugh, but stops when he sees that she's gone still and silent on him once again. _Well, nothing lasts forever._

From the drawer she's pulled a pale blue shirt that looks soft and delicate. It trembles in Myka's hands as she holds is to her chest, her eyes closing automatically. A blush crawls up her neck and suddenly Pete feels like the thermostat in the house must have been turned up to the high eighties on accident.

"Uh…Mykes?"

Her eyes snap open and her flush turns magenta.

"I – I um," she clears she throat, "I think I, um, better…I think I'd better leave that here for –" she casts around for a way out, "for...when I come back! You know, when I'll come back I'll need some clothes and…"

Pete stares at her and she trails off.

Busted.

Sheepishly Myka refolds the shirt and tucks it back into her top drawer.

"I'll just leave that there."

"Yup."

"Yup."

"Okaaay, then."

Myka clears her throat.

"Right. Packing."

It gives Pete hope that Myka can come across something so obviously H.G.'s and not be reduced to tears. He finds awkward and embarrassed Myka endearingly normal, and it is certainly a refreshing change from the darkness he knows has been eating away at her. He can already see that her leaving for a while will do her good. And it makes him feel braver about having to let her go.

Fingernails tap on the door and a red head appears around it. Claudia's eyes are glued to her shoes and she shifts from sneaker to sneaker.

"Myka?"

"Hey, Clauds."

"I'm really sorry about earlier," she rubs at her nose, "you know, what I said."

"Hey, hey. Claudia. It wasn't anything that wasn't true."

"You're not – mad?"

"It wasn't anything I didn't need to hear. And it meant a lot coming from someone that I care about and respect."

It only takes an instant for Claudia to launch herself across the room to throw her arms around Myka's waist. She forces herself to hang on even though she can feel each of Myka's ribs through her sweater and it makes her want to shudder. She hangs on even tighter.

"I don't want you to go."

"Hey," Myka pulls back to look down into her face. "You're going to be great. You're going to be the best goo-shooting, Tesla wielding, artifact finding agent in the Warehouse – no offense, Pete."

"Hey! Total offense taken!"

He fakes a pout but bounces off the bed and sweeps them both into a bear hug.

"You're leaving in the morning?" Claudia questions, her face smushed against Myka's shoulder.

"Yup," comes Myka's equally muffled response. "Pete's driving me."

"Road trip!" Pete crows before releasing them.

Claudia rubs her ribs and laughs. "Good, all the more time for me to get ahead of you for the Best Agent of the Year Award."

"No fair!"

Myka wraps an arm around Claudia's shoulders and gently squeezes before releasing her.

"Knock 'em dead, Claud."

In the morning Myka looks up at the snow dusted bed and breakfast one last time. Then she slides into the car with Pete and drives away.

* * *

**Author's Note: So I've know exactly when H.G.'s going to appear for quite some time, and today I think I worked out how the rest of it will go. I am super, duper excited. So I hope you are up to hanging on for the ride, I think you're going to be interested in just what H.G. was doing with her time all last season! **

**Reviews make me write faster! :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: Sorry…! I am so sorry. It's been so long and everyone's been great and said such kind things in their reviews. I finally started working on this tonight and I'm very pleased to bring you Chapter Seven. This chapter is working its way up to a several scenes that I've been plotting for months that will come in the next few chapters. I hope you enjoy! Thanks for all your patience and lovely reviews.**

* * *

**What H.G. Did: Chapter Seven**

Myka's parents surprisingly don't ask many questions when Pete and Myka enter their shop late in the evening after a full day of driving. Mrs. Bering simply opens her arms to her daughter and holds her for a long moment, hands gripping the sharp shoulder blades that spike through the back of her daughter's soft grey sweater. Pete watches as Myka meets her father's eyes over her mother's shoulder and he braces himself on her behalf for the onslaught of remarks that Mr. Bering usually makes regarding his daughter's weight. But they don't come. Instead, the sheen in Mr. Bering's eyes makes Pete look away uncomfortably. Myka pulls away from her mother and hesitates, but when her father opens his own arms to her, she rushes into them. Moving away from the family's reunion, Pete shuffles some of Myka's bags further into the shop, depositing them at the base of the stairs that lead to the family's apartment. Suddenly, this is all too real for him.

It doesn't take long to get Myka settled, though it is accomplished with a sort of genial chaos that Pete usually associates with the Warehouse B&B – or perhaps simply with family. Myka's mother flutters in and out of the room, simultaneously helping her daughter unpack and offering around plates of cookies and hot cider – all of which Pete unabashedly accepts. Myka and her father are talking a mile-a-minute about some new seventeenth century volumes that have just come into the shop. Myka gestures eagerly with her hands as she speaks, the items of clothing unfolding and rumpling as she excitedly motions with them, only to be gently taken and folded by her mother without Myka even noticing they've left her hands. The interaction is an amusing reversal of his interactions with her the night before, and Pete grins as he bites into a warm and gooey ginger cookie.

All too soon, Pete finds himself back on the curb outside the shop, stomping his feet against the pavement to ward off the deep chill of the oncoming night. Snow is blowing around them, catching in Myka's curls and in her fuzzy hat as she squints at him in the light of the street lamp.

They look at each other and the awkwardness of saying goodbye makes them both laugh nervously.

"Be good now, Myka. Try not to find any possessed books in the shop this time and no reading with a flashlight under the covers when it's after lights out."

Myka laughs again, gently punching his arm before retracting her hands into the crooks of her elbows as the chilly wind picks up.

"I'll try –" then seriously – "take care of them Pete. They need you. More than you know."

He flushes at that and stares at the toes of his heavy boots, but her hands reappear on his shoulders, pulling him into a hug. She rests her chin on his shoulder and squeezes him slightly. The noise of the city dims around them in the falling snow and she pulls away, her hands quickly retreating into her coat pockets to escape the cold.

He turns to go but her voice pulls him back.

"Pete – wait!"

He stills and turns to find her biting her lip, fumbling to pull something out of the back pocket of her jeans. It comes clear and glitters in her hand under the streetlamps.

It's H.G. locket. Pete swallows.

She holds it out to him, her hand steady, her eyes determined.

"Could you put this back – back where – where it belongs. In the Warehouse."

Her eyes glimmer then — sadness, and loss, and acceptance, and strength dueling for control on her features.

He reaches out and takes it from her, his fingers twisting in metal warmed by Myka's pocket. And while he should feel glad – should feel overwhelming relief that Myka's letting go of the only physical remain left to her of H.G. – he is unprepared for the waves of grief that slams into his chest. He can't look at her – no, not when she's come here to heal. He can't draw her back into darkness simply because he wants to turn the world around, turn time, and space, and hearts so that H.G. will choose Myka. So that H.G. will always choose Myka.

But he can't.

He gently winds the golden chain around the pale-pink ceramic flowers of the locket and carefully tucks what feels like all of Myka's secret dreams into his own pocket. Then he turns and slides into the truck, his eyes meeting Myka's one last time in the right-hand mirror.

Myka watches the taillight's of Pete's car disappear into the glint of the city streets, tears freezing on her cheeks.

* * *

Pete expects the winter to drag on with Myka's absence, but the truth is that time could not be flying faster. There seems to be a surge of minor artifact incidents, or perhaps it's the fact that the Warehouse is down an agent, but Pete finds himself on a break neck circuit: from Univille to New Orleans; to California; to Arkansas; back to Univille, then on to Barcelona; Manila and South Carolina, before January even hits.

He is able to take a few days off, forgoing the usual Warehouse Christmas Dinner to spend the holidays with Myka's family. The four of them eat Christmas dinner by candlelight at a small table situated between towering piles of books. Myka grins as she doles out presents the next day, and the very thoughtful sleek new Tesla holder she gives him doesn't make him half as happy as it does to see color back in her cheeks and a sparkle back in her eyes.

All too soon, he's back chasing down artifacts in what seem to be only the coldest climates: Chicago, Finland, Winnipeg. He keeps in touch with Myka over the phone when he can, even though he finds he usually falls asleep when she recaps the multitude of books she has been voraciously reading. He rarely discusses his work with the Warehouse with her. And H.G. is never mentioned.

* * *

Spring doesn't so much bloom in Univille but slosh in soggily, wringing out its coat on the B&B and the surrounding town. Pete mucks through the mud from the Warehouse out to his truck and curses when a sudden downpour sends water streaming into the driver's seat as he opens the door to the vehicle. When he takes his seat behind the wheel, water seeps up through his jeans. Through his continued cursing he almost miss the sound of his phone ringing.

He flips it open and curses some more.

"Well, hello to you too."

Myka's voice cuts clearly through the phone and he rolls his eyes.

"Man, I got rain in my butt."

There is silence and then, "I'm not even going to ask about that one, Pete."

He maneuvers the truck into drive and pulls away from the Warehouse, gripping the phone between his ear and shoulder as he drives.

"I hate the spring. All this rain."

"You said that about winter, Pete – all that snow."

"Yeah, well, maybe I should just move somewhere warm – tropical maybe."

"All that sunburn."

"You're a pest, Myka, you know that."

"And you're a grump, Pete – seriously, so grumpy this winter."

Pete tries not to whine petulantly but decides against it.

"Too much traveling. Too much cold and wet and now I'm hungry - I'm driving home for lunch."

"And you miss me."

Pete pauses just to test her.

"Pete!"

"Yeah, okay, you're right. I miss you. Even through you're a pest."

"Hey!"

He can almost hear her sticking her tongue out at him. It feels good to have these easy moments of banter between them. It makes him feel like she's not so far away. And she's right. He's been a total and utter grump all winter. Claudia likes to tease that it's because he misses Myka – and she's right he does – but he knows she's where she needs to be for now. His mood is darker than it should be, he's testy and he finds himself thinking of Kelly more than he has in a long time. Brooding over her, stewing over how things ended between him. He wants to see her again. He wants to drink again. There is a dark cloud that has settled into his chest and he can't seem to shake it. He vaguely recalls Myka telling him about some sort of creature from a book she loves – Demeanors? Demoters? Ah, that's right –_ Dementors_. He'd seen the movie once. _They suck the happiness right out of you._

Tamping all this down he turns out onto the main road and his attention back to Myka. The rain stops as abruptly as it had begun but he has to squint through the intense pea-soup fog that rises up like a blanket over the world around him.

"Anything cool happening in the shop?"

"Anything cool happening in the Warehouse?" She counters.

"Touché."

"How's your mom? Can I say hi?" Pete's become very fond of Myka's mother, particularly her cooking, and while Myka knows that his conversations with her mother are truly about checking up on her, she really doesn't mind.

"Nope, not right now." Myka pauses and Pete frowns.

"Everything all right?"

"Yes – she's just – she's out right now." Her lie is as unconvincing to herself as it is to Pete and she laughs. "No – she's here, it's just – I wanted to talk to you."

Pete watches as the fog buffets the hood of the car and flips on the defroster to counter the condensation that is building on the windshield.

"Myka – you'd…you'd tell me if something were wrong. You would – right?"

"Yes. Pete, I'm fine. In fact, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. I—"

He can hear her intake of breath and he has to calm his racing heart.

"Myka?"

"I think I'm going to come back – soon. I'm ready. I know I'm ready."

"You're ready?"

"Yes."

His face bursts into a wide grin and he struggles to turn the car into the long B&B driveway and hang onto the phone at the same time.

"Myka – that's wonderful! When? How long?"

"I'm not sure – a Regent came by last week and we spoke –"

"—You didn't tell me that." He frowns as he bumps his way down the unpaved drive.

"I know. I wasn't sure if they'd give me clearance – I didn't want to get either of our hopes up."

"But you're good. You're oaky."

"I'm better than okay, Pete. I'm ready to come home."

Her voice forms warmly around the word home just as the B&B swims into sight through the mist. His heart squeezes with joy and he pulls to a stop to grip the phone in both hands.

"And?! When will you come back?"

Myka sighs on the other end of the phone and then laughs. "We'll see – soon, I hope. Maybe the end of April?"

"But that's so far way," he whines, shutting off the ignition and pulling the keys out. He plays with the cold metal and watches the dark shapes of newly green trees through the grey.

"I'll be there soon, Pete. I promise."

"And we'll go back to how we were?"

"We'll go back to better than we were."

Pete can hear the sincerity in her words and he can't keep the smile from stretching his face. They have fought many ghosts, both on and off the job. Sometimes both. But with heartbreak behind her, Pete is going to make sure that when Myka comes home, she comes home to a family that is enough to keep her happy. To keep her smiling.

"I'll come get you when you're ready."

"Pete, you don't have to."

"No, I will."

He can hear her smile through the phone and he laughs a little.

"Okay."

"Bye, Myka."

"Bye, Pete."

He flips his phone shut and sighs.

_Today the world just got better._

It isn't until he's slid from the truck and locked the door that he realizes that there's another car coming up the drive. He hears the vehicle before he can spot it in the fog, but it's not until it slides to a halt and the driver cuts the ignition he can make out the vehicle's form from the swirling haze.

The driver steps out of the car – silhouetted in the mist – tall, and thin, and dark haired. Pete starts forward before he can stop himself –

"Myka!?"

"Hello, Pete."

Before his eyes can even process the face that has emerged from the fog, the accent stops him in his tracks.

He looks into the eyes of H.G. Wells and feels his stomach plummet through his toes.

* * *

**Author's Note: Well...there she is! And I am so excited for H.G.'s side of the story. Coming up we'll find out more about where H.G.'s been (Hint: Angstown, USA).**

**Reviews are welcome!**


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